


The 2nd Day of Christmas: "A Few of My Favorite Things"

by C_Diva (thecollective)



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade 12 Days of Christmas Challenge [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Destiel, AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baking, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Boys Kissing, California, Castiel Cooks, Chef Castiel, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, Christmas fic, Dean Plays Guitar, Dean Winchester Sings, Dean and Food, Dean has a soft tummy, Destiel Smut Brigade, Floor Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Musician Dean Winchester, NYE - Freeform, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, Past Relationship(s), Profound Bond, References to Dean/Other(s), Rimming, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Castiel, Ugly Sweaters, Whipped Cream, the Winchesters are in California, these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/C_Diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***<br/>A love story in which Dean is a musician and Cas is a chef and they sing and cook and kiss and it starts out as Christmas fluff, SUE ME.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dear Collectress for reading through this ridiculous beast of a PWP and discovering that it actually has a plot. Sort of. 
> 
> I was inspired by the Mannly Supernatural Stonehenge Christmas SO MANY.
> 
> Also, this is day 2 of the #destielsmutbrigade "12 Days of Christmas" series. Subscribe for Destiel fics every day til Christmas!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Listen to the "A Few of My Favorite Things" Christmas Playlist for the full experience!](http://a-collectivemind.tumblr.com/post/105202897565/listen-here-to-the-playlist-for-a-few-of-my)

Dean held Sam’s goddamn puppy dog eyes personally responsible for the fact that he was out of his pajamas and in a suit on the first Friday night of December. He could reasonably blame Sam for fucking up this particular evening by volunteering Dean’s services for the amusement of a bunch of asshat lawyers. Not that he didn’t love restringing his guitar and practicing music with a hot cup of tea by the fireplace until he felt confident enough to sit in front of a pretty large crowd at a swanky nightclub, but this was not that. Nope. Sam confessed Friday morning, and only after Dean called him on it, that he _may have possibly_ mentioned his brother could sing when the head partner announced the office party entertainment had suddenly canceled. So, even though he didn’t at first understand Sam’s cryptic text message that simply said: “PLEASE SAY YES”, Dean began to get the picture when he answered his phone a minute later and it was Sam’s boss.

“This is Dean Winchester.”

“Hello Mr. Winchester. This is Crowley McLeod, of the McLeod lawfirm,” the British accent said in a clipped tone.

“Mr. McLeod, call me Dean. What can I do for you?”

“Crowley. Your brother works for me, yes.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, sure. We met at last year’s Christmas party.” Dean paused and asked again in a firm tone, “Why’d you call me?”

Crowley snickered under his breath. “You don’t pull punches, do you? I like that. Your moose of a brother dances around my feelings, but you, Mr. Winchester, you get down to business. It’s refreshing.” He cleared his throat. “We are in need of entertainment for our annual Christmas party this evening, and your brother mentioned you might be able to help us. You sing.”

Again. Not a question.

“I do.”

“Ah, yes, you do! Lovely. Would you be willing to put on a show for us this evening? I will, of course, pay you much more than what you’re worth, and your brother will be pleased as punch he gets to lord a favor over my head here at the office. You in?”

Dean didn’t even realize he had asked _how much_ until the words were already out of his mouth.

“A thousand dollars for an hour of your time. How many songs would that get me?”

 _Fuck_. Dean hadn’t made that much money at a gig, ever.

“And I need at least half of them Christmas songs, my boy.”

Dean sighed. “That’s not a problem. Six Christmas songs, four secular okay with you? What time and where?”

“Singer and a song writer, are you? That’s fine. Mic check’s at seven at Seraphim, downtown. You know it?” Crowley asked. He sounded bored.

“I’ll Google it.”

“Be there at six thirty because parking’s a bitch. Unless you valet, of course,” and then the line went dead and Dean was left standing there, with a gig in less than eight hours and a brother to throttle.

***

“Crowley was right. Parking is a bitch,” Dean said to himself as he drove around the block for the third time. When he’d moved to Los Angeles to pursue his music career, he never thought having a sixties muscle car would be an impediment to his lifestyle. God forbid he drive a veggie mobile, like Sammy, or take the train, like Charlie. Nope. Him and Baby, they were a team. But on nights like this, nights when Dean had to drive around the block for the, _fuck_ , fourth time, well, he kinda wished he had a motorcycle, although he’d never say it aloud. Up ahead, Dean noticed the white gleam of brake lights flicker in his peripheral and he crawled to a stop. Turned on his blinker. _Finally_. He parallel parked his 1967 Chevy Impala in the spot previously occupied by a Ford F-150, the only damn truck on the block, and shot a prayer of thanks up to Santa. The black case holding “Ellie”, Dean’s guitar, lay across Baby’s back seat, and Dean grabbed it and carefully set it down on the ground by his feet before draping his car in a dark blue cover that protected her from the random skateboarding accident or stray shopping cart. Because, _duh_ , his Baby. Dean picked up the case, satisfied that the Impala was safe on this random street in the middle of Downtown L.A. and felt the phone buzz in his pocket. He swiped at the screen and noticed a missed call from Sam and four text messages.

_**5:30pm Crowley:** Back entrance. You’re on the list._

Dean scowled at his phone. Asshole couldn’t even call. He punched in a quick reply.

_**6:20pm Dean:** On my way._

The next one was from Sam. Nope. Make that next three.

_**6:07pm Sam:** dean, I hope you’re not mad at me. i’m glad you’ll be there tonight and that’s awesome that you got the gig!! remember last year’s party and how drunk you and meg got? OMG you made out with her that is SO gross!_

_**6:15pm Sam:** you’re gross dude. there is soooo much traffic i’m glad jess is driving. how much is crowley paying you? he’s such a douche, but he’s a rich douche LOLZ me and jess will be in the corner left booth in the back with her friend that works at the restaurant maybe you can meet us after!!?? see ya soon :)_

_**6:19pm Sam:** nvmnd on how much you’re getting paid jess says it’s none of my business and she’s right break a leg tonite bro find me after_

Leave it to Sam to write him a ten page letter via text message and then feel bad about it.

_**6:22pm Dean:** practicing in 30 on at 8. See you after._

No need to get into emotional confrontations about volunteering his time or Dean’s need for cash. He had initially been pissed at Sam for bringing his name up for tonight’s show, but the longer he thought about it, the better he felt. This was good. He needed the exposure. He’d been working as a music teacher and side-gigging way too long. A performance at _Seraphim_ was a step in the direction of why he’d come to Los Angeles in the first place, which definitely _was not_ to follow Sam after he got into Stanford. Five years later, though, and Sam had his degree, Jess, he worked at a decent law firm, and what did Dean have? He had Baby and a job as a private music tutor, giving guitar lessons to some of Hollywood’s most spoiled teens and bored housewives. Dean smirked. Bored housewives could be fun, but Dean needed substance. He was almost fucking thirty-five for chrissakes.

“Dean Winchester. I’m singing for the McLeod private party.”

The bouncer glanced at the clipboard in his hands, waved Dean through, and suddenly he stood in a kitchen with half a dozen people running in twice as many directions. A man with dark hair and eyes the color of a frozen lake looked up from where he stood chopping green apples at a stainless steel workspace. As they locked eyes, Dean watched the corners of this stranger’s mouth tug into a half smile, half frown and Dean felt a hot blush rising from underneath his shirt collar. He cleared his throat.

“The stage?”

The man blinked and then pointed his knife at the large double doors. “Down the hall, to the right. Find Kevin, the stage manager.”

Dean mumbled a thanks and moved through the ruckus of the kitchen, careful not to bump into any person or food items with his fancy suit sleeves or guitar case. Down the hall, to the right, Dean found a young man with a headset and a grim look on his face and decided that this very well might be the worst Friday night he’d had in a while.

“You must be Kevin.” Dean stuck out his hand and the man looked at it, then up at Dean, his face set in what seemed to be a permanent scowl. “I’m the talent.”

Instead of shaking Dean’s hand, Kevin threw his arms up in the air.

“Yes, Garth, finally! Get the girls to bring the flowers to the dancefloor and on the side of the stages, pronto.” Kevin mouthed the word “sorry” to Dean and pointed to the mic set up on the stage as he walked away, presumably to yell into the headset attached to his ear. Dean sighed. This was going to be a long night.

***

Dean practiced four songs with Benny on keys before Crowley showed up to tell him to get the hell off the stage because the party was starting. He hadn’t seen Sam yet and his set didn’t start until eight, so before he sang, Dean settled in at the bar and tried not to think about the buzzing right underneath the surface of his skin. He loved to sing, he always had, but he still got nervous. Even though he shouldn’t, he ordered a whiskey with the self-imposed threat that if he didn’t sip it, he’d kick his own ass. Drink in hand, he took in his surroundings. The decor was simple. Booths sat snug against the walls, with the bar and stage opposite each other in the room, a large dance floor with small, round tables spattered across the otherwise open space. On the opposite side of the bar sat a long buffet set up with dozens of different hor'dourves, cookies and non-alcoholic drinks. The chef from the kitchen with the icy blue eyes stood behind the clothed table, smiling and chatting with guests; explaining ingredients of the same dishes multiple times. After watching him explain for the fourth time that the artichoke hearts were indeed stuffed with gingerbread, pine nuts, mushrooms and brie cheese, Dean got up and walked over to the food, grabbed a napkin.

“Excuse me,” Dean smirked. “What’s in the artichoke hearts?” When he saw the chef take a deep breath and begin his explanation, Dean began to giggle, shoulders shaking with silent amusement.

“The artichokes are stuffed with gingerbread, pine nuts...I’m sorry. Is there something funny, sir?”

“Naw man, I actually feel a little sorry for you. How many times do you think you’re gonna give that explanation tonight?”

The man looked up at Dean, recognition catching the light in his eyes. “You’re the singer.”

“Dean Winchester.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Hello, Dean.” the man extended his hand. “Castiel Novak, and I’ll probably say that line a hundred times before the night is over.”

“Even though the ingredients are listed on the placard in front of the dish?”

Castiel chuckled. “Yes, even though. Ironic, isn’t it? In a room full of lawyers, not too many take enough time to investigate what is right in front of them.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Excuse me, young man?” Castiel turned toward a tiny, older woman holding an empty buffet plate. “What’s in the artichoke hearts?”

Dean choked back a laugh and waved to Castiel. “Nice meeting you, Cas. Good luck.” Castiel did not answer. Instead, he smiled an acknowledgement to Dean and then turned to explain to the woman that the artichokes were stuffed with gingerbread, pine nuts, mushrooms and an organic brie cheese from a local farm and it was an old family recipe that he had adapted for the holiday season. Dean went back to the bar, a brewing curiosity about the man in the chef hat. _Castiel_. An interesting name. Dean glanced at his watch. **7:45pm**. Better get backstage.

***

“Without further ado, Dean Winchester!” Kevin announced at the microphone before the curtains opened behind him. On bar stool, his guitar on his lap, pianist behind him, Dean gazed out into the faceless crowd. Although nerves usually had him as jittery as a virgin on prom night, when Dean sat down, guitar in hand, microphone in front of him, serenity washed over him. He felt as if he were on a deserted island, peaceful and serene, not a care in the world. With the spotlight practically blinding him, he was spared the sea of faces gazing back at him, and so he started his set with something slow, something he didn’t need the band for.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_Let your heart be light_

_From now on our troubles will be out of sight._

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_make the yuletide gay_

_from now on our troubles will be miles away…_

Dean glanced up from the intent gaze he kept on his guitar strings and began to relax. Soon, he was finishing his set with “River”, which he happened to know was his sister-in-law’s favorite song. _Brownie points._ Ten songs and 49 minutes later, when the spotlight finally faded after his last bow, Dean noticed his brother and Jess sitting in the back, corner booth. He stashed his guitar in the nearest unlocked closet and went out to enjoy the rest of the party with his family.

Jess spotted him first. “Dean!” She pushed Sam out of the booth and jumped up to give him a hug. “You were great! You look great. Damn, dude. You clean up nice,” she said as she stepped back to take in Dean in his black tailored three-piece suit.

“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times. You picked the wrong Winchester, honey,” Dean drawled, grin spreading across his face. He loved Jess. Sam was a lucky son of a bitch to have her, and the kid knew it.

“Nah. Check out my tall glass of water. He’s looking good tonight in plaid,” she pushed at Sam again and he moved out of the booth, his soft grey plaid suit matching Jess’ silver dress.

“You guys do that on purpose?” he asked, waving his hand between the pair.

“Of course. You sounded great, Dean. Real good job. My friend is around here somewhere.” She pushed an pint of dark ale across the table. “Have a drink.”

“Ta-da!” Sam interrupted, flourishing a napkin and producing a plate full of multiple types of fried desserts.

“Once a magic nerd, always a magic nerd.” Dean groaned. “Thanks. I’m starved,” he added and grabbed at a powdered pastry. As he bit into the crispy goodness, Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Cas had made it. “I better eat before your friend gets here. She cute?”

Jess looked at Sam. “I thought you told him?”

“I did!”

“Sam. Obviously you didn’t.”

“Dean,” Sam said.

Dean looked up from his plate, green eyes a bit glazed over from the delicious apple tart he’d just eaten. “So good! What?” He looked between Sam and Jess, who was chewing on her red, glossy lip. “She ugly?”

“Dean,” Jess started. “She is a he.” She flashed bright white teeth and poked his calf with her shoe underneath the table. “He is fiiiiiine,” she exclaimed and Dean felt his stomach drop, as if he’d just come up the the highest point on a roller coaster, teetering on the precipice of the unknown. “His name’s Castiel.” _Fuck. Yes._

“Cas!” Jess hopped up in her seat, this time shoving Dean to get out of the way. “Sit!” Dean sucked in a breath as Castiel pushed passed him into the booth. He had changed out of the white chef’s uniform into a pair of grey slacks and a light blue, long sleeved dress shirt that was obviously tailored to fit. Castiel’s shoulders strained the cotton fabric when he moved and Dean felt his dick twitch. _Gorgeous_. Dean suddenly wasn’t pissed at his brother for volunteering him. Suddenly, Dean felt fucking relieved.

“Castiel,” he rumbled. “Great to see you again. Me and this guy’ve been meeting all night. The food is delicious. This is your place, right?” Dean dived right in, like a man after Olympic gold. Jess raised her eyebrows and glanced sideways at her husband who rolled his eyes.

“So,” Jess began. “You two met earlier?”

“Dean and I met at the buffet. He made me laugh,” Castiel said and Dean felt the freckles on the end of his nose burn as Jess turned and winked at him. Sam rolled his eyes again, picked up his drink and downed it.

“Jess, we need more booze,” Sam stood up and offered a hand out to his wife. “Also, I see Raphael over there and I need to say hello at some point. And you,” he said, pulling his wife close and bending down to kiss her where she stood. “You are legally bound to help me deal with stupid business Christmas parties. You promised. It’s in there, I checked.” Jess smiled at her husband and it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You guys are gross.”

“Dean, they are actually quite cute together,” Cas said lightly and Dean turned to look at the man he’d been gravitating to all night, while his brother and Jess walked hand in hand across the dance floor, swaying slightly to Benny playing “The Christmas Song” on the Baby Grand in the corner.

“It’s funny, us meeting like over and over again tonight.”

“Could be the Universe trying to tell us something.”

Dean grinned. “The Universe tells me your food’s delicious.”

“Thank you, Dean. My brother Gabe and I opened this place about two years ago. He helps run the restaurant while I stay in the kitchen. Well, help is being generous. More like hinderance. But Gabriel does book the bands, and so, I think today, I will thank him.” Cas smiled, eyes crinkling on the side of his face. “Do you write your own music?” Cas leaned into him and asked. Dean felt grateful for his directness. Usually inquiries about his music revolved around _who he knew_ or _where he played_. Castiel didn’t care. He said as much. “Just keep doing what you love. That’s what’s important, at the end of the day. If you are pleased with the results, then you are probably moving in the right direction.” He paused. “Probably.”

“Well shit man, you’re cute and smart. I’m going to have to thank Jess.” Dean looked around the restaurant. The party had started to die down and only a few people lingered at the bar and on the dance floor. “What time does the party end?” Dean asked, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. He’d been up since six, working, practicing and driving all day.

“Dean, you’re tired. The adrenaline from being on stage has probably begun to wear off,” Castiel moved toward him as he spoke, lips only inches away from Dean’s ear. “Can I give you my number?”

“Hell yes,” Dean stammered. He could feel Castiel’s warm body pressed up against his and, for the life of him, couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to go in the first place. Cas reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

“May I?”

“Unlock code is _applepie_. One word.”

Cas raised an eyebrow but typed in the password and smiled when the phone turned on to a picture of Dean, Sam and Jess at a Dodgers game, grinning in blue jerseys. Cas went to the contacts, entered in his cell phone number and email address before handing the phone back to Dean. “I hope you call.”

“I will.” He smiled and scooted out of the booth, waving goodbye to Sam and Jess, and winking at Cas. Dean yawned again as he headed backstage to grab his guitar and get started on the drive back up the highway.

After 45 minutes in traffic on the godawful 101, Dean kicked off his shoes in the hallway of his modest villa in Studio City,plopped down on the couch and pulled his phone out. He loosed the tie that hung loosely around his neck and searched through his contacts until he saw it.

_**11:53pm Dean:** Star Wars or Star Trek?_

_**11:55pm Castiel Novak:** both_

Good answer. Dean decided to change “Castiel Novak” to just“Cas” and his phone vibrated in his hand.

_**11:56pm Cas:** sharp or mild cheddar?_

_**11:57pm Dean:** sharp._

_**11:57pm Dean:** wanna see a movie tomorrow?_

Dean tugged off his jacket and shirt, unbuckled his pants and then picked up the discarded clothes and placed them all on hangers. No answer. Disappointment choked Dean as he pulled on his pajama bottoms, brushed his teeth, pulled the covers up over his body. Fuck. He’d moved too fast. Of course Castiel didn’t want to go out with him. He was just being nice back at the restaurant. He’s Jess’ friend, he probably had to be. All very professional and nothing more. Dean flopped onto his bed, opened his laptop and turned on Netflix. Doctor Sexy always made him feel better. He almost didn’t hear the buzz of his phone as he dozed on and off, watching the good doctor make out with one of the nurses in an abandoned surgery room at Seattle Mercy Hospital and tried not to acknowledge the rough and fast heart beat pounding inside his chest as he reached toward the nightstand.   

_**12:33am Cas:** sorry! i had to lock up. good answer. movie is a yes. i have to be at the restaurant by six, though._

Once again, Dean felt as if he were on the highest peak of a tall roller coaster and, he was beginning to wonder what came next. Cas was beautiful and nice and Dean hadn’t gotten laid in a really long time. Fuck it.

_**12:36am Dean:** breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. pancakes and a movie at 10? i can pick you up at the restaurant._

_**12:38am Cas:** i am looking forward to our time together, dean. goodnight._

_**12:38am Dean:** gnite cas_

 

_***_


	2. I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit right from the gate.
> 
> You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Listen to the "A Few of My Favorite Things" Christmas Playlist for the full experience!](http://a-collectivemind.tumblr.com/post/105202897565/listen-here-to-the-playlist-for-a-few-of-my)

 Their first date at the movies went well. The second date, even better. The third and fourth date were fun, but this had to be Dean’s favorite, by far. Cas was lying underneath him, sweaty and breathless, making these soft little “ah ah” noises, forehead pressed against the crook of Dean’s neck as he came close to completion. Dean knew, if he twisted his hand just so and swiped his thumb across the tip of Cas’ cock, those noises got louder, eventually turning into a single, low “aaaah” that rumbled against Dean’s chest. He also knew, when his boyfriend squeezed his eyes together, threw his head back and choked out, “Dean,” Cas was about to come.

“Yeah, babe, that’s it. Come for me. I want to watch you fall apart,” Dean crooned, his tongue darting out from his lips to catch a droplet of sweat sliding down Castiel’s neck. “Mmm, Cas, you taste so good. So beautiful. You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Dean…” Cas said his name like a benediction, then, he was coming, release striping Dean’s hand and his own stomach. “Dean…” He moved in to kiss Cas rough and wet, pressing their bodies together, lost in the warmth and closeness of the other man. When the body underneath him starting wriggling, Dean pressed down, chasing the pressure against his straining cock and moaning against Cas’ mouth. “Shhhh,” Cas whispered as he sucked tiny bruises into the stubble of Dean’s chin. “Let me.” Cas placed his hands firmly on Dean’s soft stomach, which fluttered with a thousand butterflies, and flipped Dean over with ease.

“Damn, babe, you’re strong.”

“I do yoga,” Cas said and Dean huffed a quiet laugh that died on his lips when he felt Cas slide down his body to take him into his mouth.

Dean grunted and arched his back, pushing into the sensation of warm, wet, Cas. He snaked his fingers into Cas’ hair, pulling gently and then releasing, hands roaming from the top of his head down to his jaw. Dean ran a thumb across Cas’ lips and felt the slippery spit that coated his cock spilling off of Cas’ tongue. He rubbed at the hollow of Cas’ cheeks and marveled at the feel of them as he watched Cas suck him down, bobbing, eyes closed, as if  in prayer. Dean moaned again, this time shifting his body so he could gently thrust into Cas’ mouth, who let his jaw go slack, allowing Dean to pump in and out, gagging softly. Dean slowed. “Is that okay? I mean...”

“Mmmm,” Cas hummed around his dick, winding his hands around to grip Dean’s ass and guide his thrusts.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean mumbled as he lie back and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the feeling of Castiel’s mouth around his throbbing member, the smell of sweat and sex that filled his livingroom, the sloppy sounds of skin against skin. Dean licked his lips and looked down at Cas worshipping at the temple of Dean, on his knees, eyes closed. “Cas, please.” Castiel opened his eyes, looked up, blinked twice and smiled around Dean’s dick, all sweet and innocent, and that’s all it took. Dean was coming hard, back lifting up off of the couch, ejaculate pulsing out of him. He could feel Cas’ throat working around him as he swallowed thick spurts of semen, sucking him dry until Dean whined from the over stimulation and began to squirm. Cas released Dean with lascivious “pop” and sat up on his haunches, completely naked and looking at Dean with a smirk on his face.

“We,” he started as he wiped the wet off his face, “are going to be late.”

“Ugh, Cas, can’t we just snuggle and watch _Love Actually_? And if you ever tell Sam I said that, I will deny it to my dying day,” Dean grumbled, reaching for Cas, although the come on his skin was already starting to feel uncomfortable as it dried in the cool air.

“Dean,” Castiel said as he hopped off the couch to grab a towel from the bathroom. When he returned, Cas gently wiped the flakes of white off of his own body and Dean’s stomach. “Your brother and Jess are expecting us at eight.” He kissed the inside of Dean’s thigh after wiping the crusted come away and smirked. “It’s Christmas Eve. We have gifts. We can’t stay in to have sex,” he finished, tossing the towel at Dean’s face with a giggle.

“Oh no you didn’t,” Dean growled as he grabbed at Cas and tugged him onto his lap. The pair kissed, tongues moving in tandem, unhurried and languid. Dean loved the feel of Cas’ body against his, miles of taut flesh and lean muscle contrasting Dean’s soft but firm build. With hands splayed across Castiel’s back, Dean pressed into the skin there, reveling in the breathy sigh that escaped Cas before he pulled away, eyes glazed, lips swollen and pink.

“Dean, we have to get dressed.”

“Mmmm.” Dean ignored him in favor of grazing his teeth across Castiel’s jugular.

“Dean…”

“Okay, okay,” Dean groused, letting his arms fall to his side as Cas scooted off him. “Race ya,” he said as he hopped up, naked as the day he was born, and sprinted through his bedroom to the master bathroom. He could practically hear Cas rolling his eyes behind him, but Dean didn’t care, because getting to the bathroom first meant he got to stand under the hot water first. He felt Cas coming up behind him and he bolted the last two feet into the door, skidding to a stop in front of the shower and twisting on the faucet. Cas shut the door behind them, and the room began to steam up as they both stepped into the oversize-tub that Dean had installed himself two summers ago, when the pipes busted and he’d had to redo the entire bathroom is his already-paid-for-so-no-landlord villa. The blue tiled walls matched the blue of Castiel’s eyes and Dean was suddenly dumbstruck with joy, a constant thrumming underneath his skin ever since he met Cas.

“Cas.”

The other man did not look up from his vigorous hair washing routine that involved a grapefruity smell and lots of bubbles.

“I’m glad we met.”

“So am I, Dean,” he said, soap falling onto his face that Dean felt compelled to wipe away with his wet hands.

“Are we boyfriends?” Dean asked, voice soft and unsure.

At that, Castiel turned his face into the shower to wash off the soap enough so that he might open his eyes. “Do you want to be boyfriends?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, if you do.”

Castiel smiled wide, the lines on the side of his eyes wrinkling, nose turned up, water dripping off it onto his chin and chest. “Then yes, we are officially boyfriends. But can we not call it that? It makes me feel as if I’m sixteen all over again,” Cas snickered.

“Mmm,” Dean nuzzled his face into Cas’ shoulder as he pulled their bodies close. “I’ll bet you were a gorgeous twink at sixteen,” Dean teased as he switched places with Cas and lathered up both of them, enjoying the feel of wet, slick skin underneath his hands. “If we didn’t have to go to Sam’s,” Dean started as his innocent massaging began to turn into a gentle kneading.

“If we didn’t have to go to Sam’s,” Castiel murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of water against the tiles. “I would have you on your back, writhing and screaming my name, Dean Winchester...but we have plans and our licentious exploits will have to wait until after dinner.”

“Damn, I love it when you talk dirty.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and twisted off the water, stepping out and handing Cas a towel. He wrapped a matching terry cloth around his own waist so that it lay comfortably underneath his hip bones. “Let’s get going, then. I’m starved.”

“Imagine that.”

***

When Dean pulled Baby into the driveway of Sam and Jess’ house, he marveled at the mainstream suburbia his brother called home. The streets of South Pasadena were covered in holiday decorations, Sam’s included. Every block of the neighborhood had a different theme. Sam’s street looked like as if the gingerbread man had thrown up all over the place, with red and white peppermint stripes everywhere. Large candy-shaped favors sat on each meticulous lawn and there was the incessant undertone of the Chipmunk Christmas album streaming from someone’s garage so tourists could enjoy music as they drove ten miles per hour down the street to gawk at the decorations. It gave Dean the heebie-jeebies and yet, when he looked at Castiel’s face, glowing in the twinkle of overpriced LED Christmas lights, he couldn’t help the flutter in his chest that caused his breath to catch in his throat. _Christ, but he’s beautiful._

“Knock knock! Sammy, we brought presents, open up!” Dean announced as greeting when he stepped onto his brother’s porch. The door swung open and Sam was standing there, wearing a cream colored cardigan with pictures of Santa and his reindeer and stitching that said, “I still believe”. “Oh my god, baby brother, that is the ugliest one yet,” Dean exclaimed as he examined Sam’s sweater. “But check this one out,” he preened. “Cas picked it up for me.” Dean looked down at his own wool jumper, the words “Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal” stitched onto the red fabric in large, block letters. It was hideous.

Sam frowned. “Is that even fair? I thought we had to buy our own.”

“Nobody said that, Sammy! I bought yours last year,” Jess hollered from the kitchen.

“That’s no where in the rules. Don’t start making shit up now, just because my sweater is uglier than yours,” Dean said as he pushed passed his brother. “Now where’s my pretty little sister?”

“In here, Dean. Cas, come help me. Sam’s been sitting on the couch, drinking eggnog and watching _Love Actually_ while I slave away at dinner,” Jess giggled from the kitchen at Sam’s indignant gasp. She curtsied and turned, showing off the bright blue cardigan she wore, with large snowflakes and a snowman placed strategically across the fabric.

“That’s ugly as sin, Jess.”

“Thanks, Dean,” she said as she grabbed Castiel’s hand to pull him into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry Sam, we were doing much the same thing at Dean’s not an hour ago,” Cas said over his shoulder, leaving Dean and Sam gaping in the foyer as he placed a baking dish onto the table, taking off the lid and letting the aroma guide the boys. 

The Winchester brothers could hear Cas and Jess laughing and muttering what sounded like, _“Big Christmas babies”_ under the clang of dishes and silverware. The Winchester brothers grumbled but shrugged, as if to say, “whatcha gonna do?” before meandering to the snack table in the dining room.

“So,” Sam started. “Cas.”

“Yeah?”

“He seems nice.”

“Of course he is, he’s Jess’ friend. They’re the ones who’ve spent every Thursday evenings for the last year at Yoga Palace, but he’s new to me, so yeah, he’s nice.” Dean grabbed at a pastry from the dish and closed his eyes to moaned around a mouthful of warm apple strudel and Sam wrinkled his nose.

“Ew. Do you need a moment alone with the strudel, Dean?”

“Shut up. It’s delicious.”

“Cas made ‘em?”

“Of course he did, cause my boyfriend’s awesome.” Dean grinned and grabbed another slice of flaky morsel, marveling at the texture and tang. It turned out perfect. “Mmmm, damn. Good cook, good looks, I am a lucky man, Sammy.”

“So you two are boyfriends?”

Dean groaned. He knew that the fact he’d brought Castiel to the Annual Winchester Ugly Christmas Sweater Shindig was a big deal, but nothing that warranted a chick flick moment. “Are we seriously going to do this now? Yes, we’re boyfriends, but don’t let Cas hear you say that. He prefers the term “partners”. He thinks “boyfriends” make us sound like a couple of horny teenagers,” Dean finished, licking stray apple filling off of his thumb and forefinger. His eyes flickered unbidden to the kitchen, where he could hear Jess and Cas discussing a vegan recipe for tomato soup. _Oh god, Dean was going to get fat, wasn’t he?_ “Although I _am_ pretty horny. I mean, he’s smart, talented, sexy as hell and great in the sack.”

“Ugh, Dean,” Sam covered his face with his hand. “That’s one mental image I never needed.”

“Oh, can it,” Dean remarked, his face softening. “I like him. Cas is,” he stammered, searching for the right words to describe the breathlessness that overtook him everytime Cas entered a room. The feeling that he wanted to know everything about Castiel Novak, no matter how long it took. He wasn’t sure how to express to Sam that he wouldn’t mind the holidays so much, with Cas around, and, for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester had something to look forward to in the upcoming year. Cas supported his music, believed Dean could be whoever and do whatever made him happy. “Cas makes me want to be a better man,” Dean finished, eyes drifting back to the kitchen doorway, where Cas stood in his candy cane striped sweater, which happened to match Sam’s front lawn, looking across the room at the brothers. “Hey babe, come check out the tree,” Dean called out as he squeezed Sam’s shoulder and them moved toward Castiel. “They’ve got a dark-haired dude as a tree topper who looks just like you, but with wings. He’s fucking adorkable.”

After three mugs full of rum spiked with eggnog, Dean tossed Cas his keys, loosened the tie peeking out from underneath his red, wool sweater and picked up the guitar case that had been sitting by the front door since they arrived. Dean didn’t usually sing at family functions, but every December since Sam and Jess got married, they’d invite him over to the Annual Winchester Ugly Christmas Sweater Shindig, he’d play bring out Ellie and the three of them would belt Christmas carols at the top of their lungs, until they exhausted Dean’s Christmas repertoire and Jess kicked him out to snuggle with her husband. This year, Dean brought Cas, who memorized all the words to “The 12 Days of Christmas” and also decided to learn the hand motions off of YouTube. Dean couldn’t stop smiling at Cas, who stood in front of the Christmas tree, miming _a partridge in a pear tree_ over and over again to Dean's guitar playing as Sam bobbed his head and tried to keep a straight face while Jess sat doubled over in laughter.

“Oh my god, Oh my god, Cas, what?” Jess wheezed. “What are you even doing? Where the hell did you get that hat? Dean, how could you let him do this?”

“Hey, sis. This was his idea,” Dean grinned at Jess. “Your old man doesn’t seem to mind,” He motioned to Sam, who now stood next to Cas, attempting to follow along with the hand and hip motions of _nine ladies dancing_ and failing spectacularly.

“If you don’t stop that, I will,” Jess threatened, hopping up to grab at Sam’s hips. She dug her nails into the skin above his belt until Sam gasped and wiggled away from her, only to move back and kiss his wife. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Time to go, Cas.”

“But we planned to sing two more songs,” Cas remarked, tilting his head and blinking at Dean, confused. He looked over at Jess, who now sat on Sam’s lap in the corner, giggling at whatever her husband was whispering in her ear. “Oh. Yes. Dean, perhaps we should go back to your place,” Cas said carefully, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Leave these two to it.” The pair said their goodbyes and thank yous--Jess and Sam bought Cas a gift certificate to _All Kale the Queen_ , the juice bar next door to their yoga studio and Dean a new strap and case for Ellie while Dean and Cas brought over two dozen crepes in twelve different flavors, a bottle of wine and a pairs of reindeer antlers that Sam wore the entire night plus, the entire Doctor Who series 7 set for Jess. They headed out into the night, making their way back to Studio City, to Dean’s tiny, homey one-bedroom villa, only stopping at the corner liquor mart to purchase a carton of eggnog and small bottle of rum and to kiss a bit in the moonlight.

“Mmmm. Dean, let’s go inside,” Cas murmured against Dean’s neck, before darting his tongue out and licking at a freckle he’d spotted under the street light. The night around them sat quiet, the neighbors all gone or in bed for the holiday. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I know,” he said, voice swallowed by the silence of the street. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and tugged, pulling the other man closer. “This is much better than how I pictured my holiday, I’ll admit.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, which he could almost see in the chilly, Southern California air. “Tell me about it. It’s…” he stumbled on his words, and Cas leaned back against Baby to gaze Dean, hands still gripping one another. They locked eyes and stared, quiet and still. He felt it, pounding in his chest, making it hard to breath. The drop. The high peak of that roller coaster suddenly falling out from under him. He craved to know what it felt like. To freely give and take what was given in return. Dean wanted to fall and he hoped, no, he believed, Cas would catch him. “Cas, I’m not perfect,” he started and then Cas was kissing him, frenzied and hard. They barely remembered to grab the packages from the back of the Impala before they were tumbling across the threshold into Dean’s warm, dark house.

“Bedroom, now,” Cas growled as he tossed the packages onto the couch and tugged his coat and shirt over his head, kicking his shoes off at the door. They stumbled into the bedroom, Dean walking backwards, kissing and guiding Cas to his bed. When he felt the mattress behind his knees, Dean flung them around and Cas was on his back, face pink, lips moist and swollen.

“You’re beautiful, Cas, you know that?” Dean bent down and unbuckled Castiel’s belt, sliding his pants off, until he lay there, naked and flushed, cock hard and bobbing against his stomach. “Beautiful,” he murmured and lay holy kisses on the inside of his thigh and stomach, before wrapping his hand around Cas’ cock and stroking. “I want to feel you inside of me.” Dean heard Cas hiss and he chuckled. “You like the sound of that, don’t you? Come on, babe, I want you to fuck me,” Dean said, low and dark, just to see the smile drop off of Castiel’s face. It was replaced by a hunger, one that Dean was slowly beginning to recognize and adore. After three weeks and five real dates, not including the half a dozen times Dean dropped by the restaurant to visit Castiel and get fed, Dean realized he might be falling in love with this man. For the first time in his life, the idea of giving his heart away didn’t terrify him. In fact, he felt exhilarated at the thought. Dean lunged forward and kissed Castiel, the taste of eggnog and peppermint lingered on his lips, and Dean thought it must be the sweetest combination he’d ever tasted. “Cas,” he whispered as he positioned his body parallel to his lover. “Cas, I need…”

“I’m here, Dean.” Cas reached into Dean’s bedside table and pulled out a bottle of slick. “Why is it I’m naked and you’re still wearing pants? Off. Now.” Cas’ voice rumbled with the order and Dean felt his cock swell with blood. Shimmying out of his slacks and boxers, Dean lay back onto his bed and looked up at Cas from under hooded lids, quiet and waiting. “You are the one who is beautiful Dean. So open and uninhibited. I love that about you.” Dean let his legs fall open as he watched Cas coat his fingers with the lube. He massaged Dean’s tight, puckered hole before sliding a single finger inside all the way to the knuckle. “Hmmm,” Cas hummed a pleased noise and Dean preened, moaning.

“Cas...” When the second finger penetrated him, Dean’s jaw went slack, but he didn’t close his eyes. With no one else had Dean ever really bothered to remain engaged during sex. Sex was an act of physicality, a means to an end; one with which he chased sensation, not emotion. With Cas, though, Dean found himself observing every movement, every interaction. The man intrigued him. Everything about Cas came as a surprise to Dean, and Dean wasn’t easily surprised. The world hadn’t thrown anything new at him in a while. Same old shit, different day. That is, until he met Castiel. The angel on his Christmas tree, _shit, did he really just think that?_ Who reminded him to find joy in the world and to follow his heart and to live for the moment with an eye always to the future. Dean didn’t want to miss a moment of that. “Please,” he panted. “I’m ready.” Castiel lined up his cock with Dean’s hole and slid into him. When his balls were up against Dean’s ass he pulled back and snapped his hips over and over again, causing Dean to arch off the bed and grunt to meet him with every thrust. He loosely wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist, pushing up with his hips to deepen the sensation, eyes never leaving Castiel’s.

“So perfect like this, Dean. You’re like nothing I’ve ever known before.” Dean moaned at Cas’ words. He loved it when Castiel praised him and Cas knew it. “You pretend to be so hard, unfazed by the ways of this world, but your heart is so big.” Cas began to slow his thrusts, moving in and out of Dean at a lazy pace, as if he had all the time in the world. “Your heart is so big and your dreams are so vast and you want so much. You deserve all of it, my love, all of it and more.”

When Dean felt Cas’ hips begin to stutter, he grabbed at his own leaking cock, pulling roughly until he felt that white heat envelop him, starting at the base of his spine and spreading out, a flush over his entire body. After, when they were both sated and sleepy, Dean snuggled into Castiel’s arms, content to be the little spoon. They hadn’t exchanged gifts yet, the distraction of sex and who wore the ugliest Christmas sweater too much to ignore (Cas had won, and Dean would never forget the pure joy on his face when he got the prize of a Christmas stocking full of quarters, the little dork). Still, Dean thought those could wait just a little bit longer. In the meantime, he would remain in the crook of Cas’ body; warm and safe and content on Christmas.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my shmoop!!
> 
> I just wanted to include all the sweet things the SPN cast has done over this holiday season and then embellish with some porn.
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos so I know I'm not crazy for writing this.
> 
> Meet me over on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/collectivadiva) or on [Tumblr](http://whothehellisdiva.tumblr.com) for more of the same.


	3. I'd Like You For Christmas

For the first time in ten years, Castiel decided to take Christmas day off. Deciding was the easy part. The difficult task became trying to convince his brother it was a good idea.

“Gabriel, we can close the restaurant. It’s ours. We haven’t taken any reservations yet, and it’s usually quite slow that evening, anyway.” Castiel spoke over his shoulder as he stirred the soup of the day, a vegan tomato basil bisque served with a gluten-free dinner roll and a coconut oil-based vegan butter. The recipe reminded Castiel of winter evenings by a crackling fire, bundled up with blankets and cozy pajamas. He hoped his customers felt the same way when they enjoyed the dish.

“Baby bro, I know you’ve got a new booty call and trust me, I’d hit that too, but are you telling me you’d rather spend an awkward holiday with people you barely know than an awkward holiday with people you barely know and get paid for it?” Gabriel popped one of the cooling rolls into his mouth. “Who is this guy anyway? Why, all of a sudden, are you head over heels for Dean Winchester? Have you been hypnotized by his princess eyes and fairytale freckles?” he asked.

“Do not presume to call Dean a ‘booty call’, Gabriel. He and I…” Cas trailed off, a smile replacing his scowl at Gabriel’s eating habits. “I like him. His family is nice. He makes me laugh. I want this, can’t you see?”

Gabriel softened. “I guess so. You never ask for a day off,” he grumbled, licking coconut-oil butter off his fingers. “You don’t really have to ask, anyhow. _Seraphim_ is half yours. You do all the work, so probably more than that.’ Gabe chuckled and peeked over Cas’ shoulder at the soup. “Is the soup almost finished? I’m starved.”

“Gabriel, you manage the wait staff, book the talent and deal with the customers,” Cas said as he elbowed his brother out of the way and then scooped a steaming helping of creamy soup into a large bowl for him. He placed two rolls on the plate, with three pats of homemade vegan butter, then motioned for Gabriel to sit down on the bar stool at the chopping table, next to the stove where Castiel worked. Gabriel, eyes shining with delight, jumped onto the stool and began to slurp up the hot treat. “This is our place and, if you want to stay open on Christmas, that’s fine. I just, well, I’ve been invited to Dean’s family Christmas party on Wednesday evening and I thought it might be nice to...but...if you think…I mean, if we have to...it’s fine...I’ll simply explain to Jess...”

“Just stop.”

Cas quieted mid sentence.

“Go. Christmas Eve you can leave a menu for Hannah and a list of ingredients. We’ll be okay. That’s what an executive chef is for, right?”

“And Christmas?” Cas tried and failed to keep his voice from sounding too hopeful.

“And Christmas,” Gabriel repeated, deliberately dragging out his answer, Cas presumed, just to irritate him. “Christmas we’ll close up. But only if you promise to invite me over for dinner,” Gabe finished and returned to devouring his meal, hiding a smile behind his soup ladle. Castiel grinned, heart pounding in his chest. _Christmas with Dean._ Impulsively, Cas hugged Gabriel, who sputtered on his lunch and laughed.

“Okay, okay, relax on the hugs, Oprah. I mean it. Just because you have a boyfriend,” Gabriel said the word in a sing-song voice, Castiel presumed, just to piss him off. “Doesn’t mean you get to ditch me. Anna’s back East with the kids and it’s too late to book a trip to the Bahamas like I originally wanted to do. You remember? The one you talked me out of?”

“I know, I didn’t…”

“Oh, shut up, Castiel. Just invite me to dinner with you and pretty boy.”

Castiel huffed a laugh. “Gabriel, would you like to come over for dinner on Christmas with Dean and I?”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have. I’d love to,” Gabe accepted, half-bowing before winking at Cas, who just rolled his eyes at the antics of his brother. “Shucks, Castiel. This is going to be the best Christmas ever!”

It was then Castiel realized not only would he be attending the Annual Winchester Ugly Christmas Sweater Shindig (Dean made him memorize the proper name, for some reason) but he also had just made plans to cook Christmas dinner for Dean and his closest family member. _What had he gotten himself into?_

***

“Dean.”

“Hmmm?”

“I can’t mix properly with you underneath me.” Dean snickered but didn’t move his arms, which were wrapped around Castiel’s waist, his face tucked into the nook between Cas’ neck and shoulder. The feeling of Dean’s body flush against his was distracting and Cas said as much.

“I thought chefs and bakers were different. You’re a chef. How come you know how to bake strudel? You playin’ for both sides, Cas?” Dean asked before nipping at Cas’ ear with his teeth and then moving to step aside. Cas grabbed his hand and pulled Dean back, placing a chaste kiss on his lips before gently pushing him away and continuing to stir.

“I don’t consider myself a baker, Dean. I’m a chef. This apple strudel recipe is my grandmother’s. I’ve been working on it for years. It’s the only thing I bake.” Castiel plucked an apple from the mixture, tasted it, then added a dash of cinnamon. “Perfect.” He mixed the apples after laying out the dough, a trick his Slovakian grandmother taught him in her tiny, warm kitchen that always smelled like spices and hot wax candles. “You see how thin the dough is?” Dean hummed in consensus and Cas continued to move around the space, talking and working at the same time. Earlier, he laid out the paper-thin dough on a floured tablecloth after kneading, punching and pulling it for 45 minutes before stretching it to the perfect consistency. The entire time Dean had watched with rapt attention, asking questions and offering tips on where items in his kitchen might be when Cas asked for a metal bowl or plastic wrap. “Now, we lay out the fruit filling in a narrow row. I like to add hazelnut and more cinnamon before I wrap it up.” He looked up at Dean, who was biting his lip, brow furrowed.

“How the hell do you get it to roll without the apples tearing the dough? It’s really thin.”

Cas smiled. Of course Dean _would_ get straight to the point. “That’s what the cloth is for.” He picked up the edge of the tablecloth and began to roll the dough without actually touching it. He watched, bemused, as his fingers moved of their own accord. He’d baked this recipe a hundred times, but wrapping the apples never failed to make him nervous. Dean picked up on his apprehension and hummed a soothing tone under his breath. Cas couldn’t be sure, but he thought it sounded like “Eye of the Tiger.” The edges of the fresh fruit were sharp and moist, they could tear into the fine skin of the dough. Castiel handled it through the cloth, moving with the fruit and flour, pulling it toward him as it rotated on the wooden table. He looked up at Dean, who pulled his eyes away from Cas’ hands only a moment before returning, mesmerized.

“You’re good.”

Castiel didn’t answer, just continued coaxing the pastry into a cylinder shape until there were multiple layers of membrane-thin dough wrapped around apples, raisins, lemon zest, sugar, cinnamon, salt and bread crumbs.

“It looks like a sausage.”

“Well,” he sputtered. “I know, Dean. It’s a Eastern European dessert. Tube-shaped foods are common.”

“A delicious, delicious sausage.”

Cas snorted. “Shut up.”

“I can’t believe this is the second one of these you’ve made this week.”

“It’s Christmas,” Cas answered, as if that were a satisfactory explanation. “I wanted to do something nice for both our families. Gabriel has a sweet tooth and he loves when I make our grandmother’s dessert, plus, I wanted to make a good impression on your family.” Cas looked up at Dean. “Thank you for inviting us over tonight, by the way. It truly means so much to me.” Dean grumbled a quiet _you’re welcome, don’t mention it_ , and waved his hands at Cas.

“Back to work, Emeril.”

Cas grunted a laugh as he brushed butter across the dough, lightly sprinkling sugar on top and placing the dish in the oven. When Dean swatted at his ass, he grumbled but, with the hard work gone, didn’t resist when he was pulled into strong arms that already reminded him of kitchens and baking and cold winter nights. Dean tasted like the apples he helped chop, his tongue, tart and sweet as it darted between Castiel’s teeth. Cas felt his breath coming hard when the tinny clang of the AC/DC guitar solo that was Dean’s ringtone broke the kiss and the quiet of the kitchen. Through the line, he could hear Sam wishing Dean a Merry Christmas, asking if _Cas_ was over and what _Cas and Dean_ were going to do for New Year’s Eve and that he had absolutely _no desire_ to visit Jess’ family in Palo Alto, but they promised they’d go and he _guessed_ he’d talk to Dean later and Happy holidays and congrats to Cas for winning the ugliest sweater prize, even though he didn’t think it was _very fair_. Dean chuckled at Sam’s whining, a contagious smile spreading across his face that caught onto Cas’ heart and squeezed. Before he could dwell on the emotion moving through him, Castiel leaned into Dean’s personal space. He was still smiling from his conversation with his brother and continued to grin even as Cas kissed his lips, tugging the bottom one between his teeth until Dean stopped smiling and started kissing him back. Cas ran light fingers up to the nape of Dean’s neck, rubbing soothing circles into the skin there with his thumb, pressing gently on the back of his head with one hand and allowing the other to roam down. Cupped in his hand, Dean’s perfect, round buttocks were soft but firm and Cas squeezed before dropping to his knees.

“Cas…?”

“We have twenty minutes until I have to turn the oven down and then another twenty after that,” He rumbled, voice strained with desire as he began to unbuckle Dean’s leather belt. Dean groaned and rested his weight on the counter, breath already coming out in short, airy pants. Castiel dragged his knuckles against the inside of Dean’s thigh and looked up at him. “Let’s go to the couch,” he murmured. “After all that cooking, I’m in the mood for something sweet.” He watched Dean stumble into the living room and then opened the refrigerator. “I know I saw some…aha!” he cried, grabbing at the aerosol container of the whipped treat.

On the couch, Dean sat, legs spread out, pants unbuckled and lying awkward below his hipbone. His faded Led Zeppelin shirt lay flung across the arm of the couch, a bright red Santa hat on his head, the pom-pom hanging across a huge grin on his face. “Whipped cream? It’s a Christmas miracle,” Dean rumbled. “C’mere, angel.”

Castiel gravitated toward Dean as the moon gravitates to the earth, once small and wandering, now pushing and pulling in mutual attraction until bound to one another, destined to follow the same orbital path. It felt easy, like coming home. He was struck by a desire to know Dean Winchester. He wanted to count the freckles spattered on his skin, to travel with the country with him, to cook together and listen to him sing. He wanted to ask about his parents and spend hours listening to Dean tell silly stories about he and Sam growing up. Castiel Novak wondered, briefly, at the intensity of his emotion toward Dean and wondered how this man whom he’d known for only a short time, had infiltrated his heart so completely. Castiel sighed in satisfaction as Dean playfully nipped at his neck, his ears, ran teeth across his jaw until tentatively slipping a wet tongue into Castiel’s mouth, roaming around the space until Castiel met him and pushed back. They kissed for a while, the whipped cream forgotten as they let their hands roam across each other’s body, feather light fingers skimming against skin, Dean’s body warm underneath his. When he picked up the whipped dessert, Dean moaned a filthy, precious noise as Cas sprayed a dollop on each of Dean’s nipples and proceeded to lick it off, worshipping his body, reverent and slow.

Dean looked debauched. The pupils of his bright, green eyes were lust-blown, wide and black. His skin held a pink tint that started at his cheeks and moved down, spreading out across his chest and stomach. The pants that hung so precariously on his hips now lay strewn across Dean’s stereo. Cas sat on the floor in between his knees, whipped cream container in hand, casually spraying the nozzle at Dean’s stomach and licking off the sweet cream, then to his shoulder, then his nipple again. Dean writhed, grumbled and groaned, but Castiel simply smirked and ignored his lover’s throbbing member in favor of sucking a purple bruise into the skin of Dean’s inner thigh. Only when Dean began to whisper Castiel’s name like a prayer and his leaking cock bounced against his stomach, aching and needy, did Castiel take Dean into his mouth. He swallowed him down, tasting the whipped cream and salty flavor of precome, a low rumble of satisfaction coming from the back of his throat and enveloping Dean’s member. Three weeks seemed a brief amount of time, but to him, it felt like an eternity, yet not long enough. With Dean, Castiel felt safe. He felt important and cared for and he hoped he made Dean feel the same way. With his mouth, Castiel worshipped. He praised Dean with a tongue against the veiny underside of his cock, licking up the moisture and breathing in the heady scent of Dean’s arousal that permeated all around him. He sang hymns of gratitude by swallowing Dean down to the hilt, praising the chorus of moans spilling from Dean’s lips.

Castiel felt hips stutter underneath his ministrations and then he was swallowing Dean’s warm ejaculation. A gasp escaped Dean’s lips as Cas looked up to meet the green eyes examining him, both of them capturing the moment to memory. It was enough to make Cas palm himself through his pants, watching Dean watch _him_. The spell was broken by the incessant beep of the kitchen timer, reminding Castiel to lower the heat on his grandmother’s strudel, or else the apples would harden and the edges of the pasty might burn. He pushed himself up and kissed Dean on the lips, sloppy and wet, panting into his mouth.

“Be right back.”

“Then it’s your turn, gorgeous,” Dean chuckled darkly and leaned his head back onto the couch cushions, eyes closed, as he attempted to regulate his breathing.

When Castiel returned, Dean had pulled on his boxers, but not his pants, and he once again wore the Santa hat, which made Castiel giggle as he sat down into what Dean called a “Christmas pillow fort of love.” The cushions of the couch had been arranged on the floor, along with a fleece blanket, to create a sort of bed-area at the foot of Dean’s small, plastic Christmas tree, under which still sat two wrapped gifts; one for Dean and one for Cas. Cas smiled, heart full and threatening to overflow with emotion that he wasn’t yet ready to articulate. He settled for praising Dean’s fort building skills, causing a faint blush to rise from the stubbly jawline of his chin to the mussed-hair line of his forehead, touching every freckle in between. Castiel thought it must be the most wonderful tint of pink he’d ever seen. It reminded him of fresh salmon, straight from the fisherman’s market in Spring and he vowed silently do whatever it took to see that color on Dean every day for the foreseeable future. He shivered as he watched Dean from under hooded lids remove the festive hat and slide up his body.

“You’re so good for me, Cas,” Dean whispered as he pushed Castiel’s legs to his chest and licked a hot stripe up the back of one knee, then the other. “I’ve never felt so sure about something in my life,” he said, warm breath tickling the hair on Castiel’s thighs. “I’m no good with words. Let me show you, instead,” and then he was pushing Castiel’s cheeks apart, laving at his hole with his slippery wet tongue.

A strangled moan escaped Castiel’s lips. “Dean, my god…”

Dean stilled and pulled away to look up at him, concern furrowing his brow. “Is this okay? We never talked about it, I just…”

“Yes. Please, don’t stop. Please...” Castiel stopped trying to form words when he felt Dean’s tongue dig into his body, the slick heat almost unbearable. Feather light licks turned into Dean fucking Castiel’s opening with his tongue, pushing his face into the skin there, until all Cas could feel or think or hear was _Dean, Dean, Dean_. Dean wrapped his hand around Cas’ hard dick and began working in rhythm with his mouth and Cas lost it. Writhing with wanton abandon underneath the attention, he thrust up into Dean’s hand while trying to push back into his mouth at the same time, chasing his release. A pool of white hot fire gathered at the base of his spine, moving outward, through every inch of him, and yet he could not take his eyes off of Dean. The way his hand moved languidly up and down his cock, twisting at the base just so, thumb swiping across the tip to gather the precome there mesmerized him. He watched Dean’s hair bounce in the morning light that creeped through the east-facing windows and wondered at the gentle nature of this seemingly gruff man. Only when the explosion of pleasure reached its peak, and Castiel could not hold back the flood of pleasure threatening to break him, did he close his eyes, a single word rumbling from the depths of his chest.

“Dean…”

And then he was coming; the puckered ring throbbing around Dean’s tongue, spurts of ejaculate coating Dean’s hand as Castiel’s orgasm washed over his entire body, turning his limbs to jelly. He slowly lowered his legs, stretching them out around Dean, opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly.

“That was…”

 _Beeeeeep beeeep beeeep_.

Dean chuckled as he wiped moisture off his chin.

“Perfect timing.”

Cas groaned. “Shiiiiit. Okay,” he said as he hopped up, bare-ass naked and ran to the kitchen to take the strudel out of the oven even though he could hardly feel his legs underneath him. In less than two minutes he was back in the pillow fort of love, snuggled next to Dean, who had cleaned up with a nearby towel and held the two presents in his hands.

“Present time.”  He handed a flat, heavy box wrapped in brown paper with hemp ribbon to Castiel, and kept a small package wrapped in green for himself. “Open.” Dean bumped his shoulder into Castiel’s and grinned.  

“Well, isn’t this wrapping paper rustic?”

“Shut up and open it, dork.”

Castiel smiled as he carefully opened the package without tearing the paper, folding it and placing the ribbon on top. He inspected the box, turning it over in his hands. “Dean…? Is this…?” He popped up the latch on the aluminum case. “This is a [Wustof Deluxe Attache](http://www.cutleryandmore.com/wusthof/deluxe-aluminum-knife-attache-case-p12593). It’s beautiful. I…” he paused to grab Dean’s face and pull him in for a quick kiss on the lips. “I only have an old polyester zip-up for my knives.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve always wanted a Wustof case but never thought I should…”

“I figured.”

“Oh, Dean, it’s lovely!” Castiel ran his fingers gently over the foam interior. Inside was space for 17 knives plus a removable bottom to store goodies. It was sturdy, which meant the case travelled well, and had a lock with two keys on the outside, for maximum security. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling his cools lips against the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder blade, causing the other man to swallow hard, eyes fluttering. Cas smirked. “”Now open yours. The paper matches your eyes, can you tell?”

“You are such a sap.”

“You love it.”

Dean looked at him, fondness in his eyes, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I really do.” Castiel’s breath hitched involuntarily as he felt that immeasurable tug pulling at him, moving him into Dean’s space, body and soul. He watched as Dean, without hesitation, ripped into the paper to find a blue jewelry box.

“This isn’t Tiffany’s is it, because I’m not that kind of girl,” he quipped, his long eyelashes blinking in rapid succession. Cas huffed a laugh.

“No, Dean. I didn’t get you diamonds. Open up.”

Dean lifted off the lid and peered inside, then looked up to grin at Castiel, teeth wide, eyes shining. He shook his head. “Seriously?”

“Do you like them?” Inside the box sat two tiny cufflinks in the shape of [Chevy Impala headlights](http://www.ebay.com/itm/1967-CHEVROLET-IMPALA-SS-HEADLIGHT-039-s-NOS-DEALER-SALESMAN-PROMO-CUFFLINKS-BALFOUR-/251319812891?_trksid=p2054897.l4275). They were about an inch across, in the exact shape and color of the headlights on Dean’s prized car, complete with chrome and cubic zirconia that sparked in the white lights of the Christmas tree. “They were only sold in 1967 and only to salesmen or Chevrolet execs. I thought you might want to wear them next time you venture out in a suit. You do look damn good in a suit.” Before the last words were out of his mouth, Dean had taken both boxes and placed them on the floor and tackled Cas, pushing him back onto the floor.

“They’re perfect. You’re perfect,” Dean spoke into the stubble of Cas’ chin, nipping at his bottom lip, eventually licking into Cas’ mouth with his tongue. Under the warmth of the blankets and in the middle of Dean’s Christmas pillow fort of love, the pair let their eyes drift closed as they kissed, languidly, in no hurry to shift out of each other’s orbital space. Not even when Castiel’s phone buzzed in the kitchen did they move. It was only when Dean’s phone began to blast “Cherry Pie” from the other room that they pulled apart, both with sex-crazed hair and swollen, wet lips. “That’s the restaurant ringtone,” Dean groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbow.

“Shit. What time is it?”

“Three. What time is Gabriel coming over?” Dean sat up, pulling the blanket off of Cas and wrapping it around him as Cas stood up.

“Seven. Shit.” He said again, before taking in the sight of Dean, all rumpled and sex-mussed. ”You’re a mess.”

“You’re not much better,” Dean groused, eyes twinkling.

“I have to start cooking.”

“We just finished!”

“Dean, that was desert. I have to get the roast into the oven and prep the cabbage and dumplings if dinner is going to be finished by seven,” he said as he pulled up his boxers and pants over them.

“Well, that was a pretty awesome desert,” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “Whipped cream? Nice.”

“Oh my god. Go take a shower and then come help me with the potatoes, please?” Cas asked as he moved into chef-mode, slipping an apron over the Star Trek “Vulcans do it with straight faces” t-shirt he had borrowed from Dean that morning and pulling items out of the cupboards and drawers as he readied the kitchen for dinner preparation. “I love you, but get out of my kitchen,” he growled absently, then stopped, back to Dean, hand poised to grab the pepper off the spice shelf.

Arms snaked around his waist and Cas let go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Do you, now?” Dean asked, pushing his face into Castiel’s hair and lightly kissing him on the top of his head.

“Dean, I…”

“Me too.”

“What?” He tilted his head not sure if he heard correctly and Dean laughed softly into his neck.

“Me too. I love you.” He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world. _And maybe,_ Castiel thought, _it really was_.

 


	4. I'll Be Home For Christmas

“Knock knock, little brother! I’m here to rescue the fairy princess from your horrible joke timing and sex-hair!”

“Gabe’s here, Cas,” Dean drawled, from his spot on the couch, where he’d sat and watched the entirety of the first _Die Hard_ film while getting dressed for dinner, at Cas’ insistence.

“Dean, I cannot cook while you’re fondling me. Since all the potatoes have been diced, thank you by the way, and there is nothing for you to do, why don’t you put on your favorite Christmas movie while I finish up in here?” Cas asked him, exasperated and disheveled from cooking all afternoon. Dean had promised to sit and watch, but more often than not, he ended up with his arms wrapped around Castiel, nuzzling his neck, nipping on his earlobe, until they both were panting and semi-hard. “I refuse to be distracted by your glorious freckles, Dean Winchester,” Cas growled. “Now, go!” Two hours later, after John McClane had apparently saved Los Angeles from Professor of the Dark Arts, Hans Gruber (he did not understand that reference), Castiel took a shower with barely enough time to pull on a pair of slacks, black dress shirt and red tie before Gabe knocked on the door. Dean, on the other hand, had all afternoon to get ready, and it showed. He wore a fitted black suit and a long-sleeved white shirt, tie-less, with a couple of buttons opened at the neck, stubble on his chin. Castiel could see the Impala cufflinks he’d purchased for Dean on his wrists, shiny yet subtle and perfect for his new boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. No. _Partner_. He liked that word much better. _Boyfriends_ made them sound like a couple of teenagers. Castiel didn’t want a boyfriend, he wanted a partner; someone he could share his time with; the joys and the trials. Someone who he could lean on and who could lean on him, in return. He sighed as he took in Dean’s mussed hair. This time, he’d made it look that way with product and by running his fingers through it thoroughly. Cas tried to ignore the intense throb of desire that pulsed through him as he thought of Dean’s head, bobbing in between his knees earlier that day, Christmas lights twinkling above them on the tree, as he gave Castiel one of the best orgasms of his life in the Christmas pillow fort of…

“Cas, I said are you gonna get that or should I?” Dean interrupted his reverie, and then squinted his eyes at Castiel. “Were you daydreaming about sex? You have a look,” he commented, pecking Cas on the cheek as he went to pull open the front door.

“Finally, sheesh. Thought I was gonna be standing out here all night while you two made googly eyes on the other side of the door,” Gabriel groused as he put out his hand to Dean. “Gabe Novak. Big brother to this little angel and defender of his honor, if it comes to that.” Cas watched as they shook hands and Gabriel sized up Dean. Dean didn’t back down, though, and Castiel shook his head when he noticed his brother smirk and move out of Dean’s space and come toward him, arms out to scoop Cas up. “Hey, hey, Castiel, Happy Christmas, bro!” Gabe hugged him tight, wrapping him in a bear hug that reminded Cas of when they were little and he hurt himself or got into trouble. Gabriel had always been the one who patched Cas up or sat with him while he cried at the injustice of middle school politics. He might be a practical joker and a slob to live with, but Castiel loved his brother fiercely and looked up to him more than he cared to admit. It was Gabe whom Castiel spoke with about his “big idea” after finishing culinary school in France and working abroad for a while. He returned to the States with the crazy idea that he wanted to open his own restaurant in Los Angeles and Gabriel not only supported him emotionally, but found the right people to invest and get them started in the restaurant business. It was through their joint efforts that Castiel watched his dream come to life and _Seraphim_ was born.

“Merry Christmas, brother,” Castiel hugged Gabe back, and, over his brother’s shoulder, smiled warmly at Dean, who picked up the packages Gabriel set down in the foyer. “Guess what I made?”

“Oh, man, I can smell it already,” Gabe rubbed his belly and Dean chuckled. “Baba’s roast duck, most definitely and…”

“Red cabbage…”

“Read cabbage and...dumplings? Oh, Cas, you are a saint among men,” Gabriel praised and Cas ducked his head, bashful but pleased.  “Dean, I hope you know how lucky you are. Also, I hope you exercise because hanging around with this guy will fatten you up.”

Dean grinned and Castiel could see him visibly relaxing as Gabriel began to make himself comfortable. “Tell me about it. The strudel alone…”

“Wait. He made strudel?” Gabe turned to his brother, smile wide and all teeth. “You made Baba’s strudel? Oh, man, am I glad I brought you a Christmas present.”

“It’s a traditional Slovak Christmas, brother. I thought Dean might enjoy it.” He winked at Dean. “And I know you will. Now come on, to the table. Dean’s set the table for us and the food’s best when hot. Merry Christmas, let’s eat!”

At dinner, Cas couldn’t stop staring at Dean, even if he wanted to. Dean’s easy conversation, hearty laugh and generous disposition shined throughout the meal, as he stood to grab more wine or start a fire when the temperature began to drop. When they migrated to the living room, Dean snuggled up to him on the couch, flinging his suit jacket off, carefully removing his new cufflinks and kicking off his shoes. Cas was struck by the ease with which Dean and Gabriel quipped, teasing each other and even him, before settling into a lengthy discussion about the best place to find pie in Los Angeles. Dean argued that House of Pies on Vermont had the best Dutch apple while Gabe posited that he’d never tasted pecan pie until he visited the Pie Hole in the Arts District. Castiel fell into a comfortable silence listening to them go back and forth, presenting reasons, explanations and, finally, ridiculous insults as to why one place was better than the other. Gabriel brought gifts, and so, after they were stuffed with strudel and Slovak comfort food, they sat around the Christmas tree, opening packages, one at a time. Even though they hardly knew each other, only spent a couple of dinners together at _Seraphim_ , Gabe and Dean exchanged envelopes with shy smiles. Gabe bought Dean a gift certificate to Guitar Center and Dean got Gabe a gift card to the Ghirardelli store. While they laughed at their mutual unoriginal ideas, Cas could only beam at the fact that these two very important people in his life actually got along. Thank goodness. Castiel handed Gabriel his gift bag, which held a matching hat and glove set that Cas knitted himself.

“You knit?”

“Yes, Dean. I knit. I have always been good with my hands,” he said, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he wiggled his eyebrows at Dean. Gabriel coughed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh please, I just ate, you two. Cas, open this one.”

Next, Dean and Cas opened what looked to be matching pajamas. Cas rolled his eye at his brother’s antics, while Dean just laughed and promised to wear them that night. Last, Cas pulled away the wrapping of the package Gabe brought for him and couldn’t prevent the tears that sprung up in the corners of his eyes. The retouched image of six-year old Castiel, twelve-year old Gabriel, sixteen-year old Anna and their parents at the family home in Connecticut brought a lump to his throat that took more than one try to swallow down. In the double frame was another picture of Castiel as an infant, sitting on his mother, Naomi’s, lap.

“Gabriel, this is very thoughtful. I’ve never seen this picture before. Where did you…” He turned to Dean. “These are my parents, Charles and Naomi Novak. They died about ten years ago in a car accident, while I was abroad.” His voice caught and Dean grabbed at his hand, rubbing his thumb over each knuckle carefully, until Cas began speaking again. “Gabriel paid for two tickets. A round trip home for the funeral then back to France, and an open-ended flight back to LA, to visit him, whenever I wanted to...come home.” For Cas, home had been with his brother Gabriel for a very long time. When he moved across the ocean to escape his family as much as to go to school, Gabriel had been the one to encourage him to follow his dreams, to keep moving forward. Even when everyone else doubted him--his parents, his sister, his friends--Gabriel pushed Cas to keep cooking and learning, if it was what he loved. “Much like with you and Sam, Gabriel and Anna are all I have.”

“Now, we have each other,” Dean spoke quietly, thumb continuing to trace an infinity line between Castiel’s knuckles, eyes never leaving his. Gabe smiled softly at his brother and then proceeded to engage in a very exaggerated yawn.

“Oh wow, look at the time! It’s almost eleven and I’ve still got places to go and people to see,” Gabriel stood up to gather his things and headed toward the door. “Hey, Dean-o, I know it’s short notice, but better than last time, eh?” Dean frowned in confusion but Gabriel elbowed him before continuing. “We’re hosting a New Year’s Eve event at the restaurant and I was wondering if you wanted to sing a couple songs. Some of our potential Las Vegas investors will be there, so I wanna wow ‘em. You can do all original music if you like, as long as you sing “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve” at midnight. It’s tradition.” Gabe grinned at Castiel’s dropped jaw and then looked at Dean. “Well? Think about it and let me know. As in, call me tomorrow, buddy-boy.” Then he was down the walk, at his motorcycle and gone before Dean and Castiel could process what he’d said. All of a sudden, more than anything, he wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with Dean. Castiel turned to him, the man who suddenly had infiltrated every facet of his life, and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Dean…” Warm lips pressed against his and Castiel sighed into them, pushing his body flush against the other man and causing Dean to stumble, back suddenly against the brick porch wall. “That was nice.”

“Mmmm,” Dean answered. “The kiss or the food? ‘Cause I can only take credit for one.”

“The night. Thank you. For everything.” Cas moved into Dean’s space again, fingers feather-light on Dean’s exposed neck, down the sleeves of the crisp linen shirt to the buckle of his leather belt. “Dean…” He nuzzled his nose into the warm space behind Dean’s ear and nipped gently.

“Cas…”

“Hmmm…?”

“I don’t have any shoes on and I’m no hobbit; it’s cold as hell. Can we please go inside?” Dean mumbled. Cas looked down at Dean’s bare feet. _When had he taken his socks off?_ He wondered, chuckling as Dean wiggled his toes for effect.

Inside, after they’d decided Castiel would stay one more night and changing into the matching onesie pajamas Gabe had bought them, Dean asked Cas about the Vegas project.

“I was going to tell you,” Castiel explained. “We’ve been working on opening a second restaurant, in Las Vegas, but it’s quite expensive.” Dean nodded absently. He lay head propped up on the side of the couch, eyes closed, with his feet on Cas’ lap, both of them bundled up in a shared blanket.

“‘Course it is. It’s Vegas.”

“Gabriel is much better with people than I am…”

“Don’t say that, Cas. You’re awesome.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas smiled and squeezed Dean’s feet before continuing. “What I mean to say is, Gabriel knows so many different types of people. He invited some of our potential investors to sample to food and the atmosphere of _Seraphim_ with our New Year’s Eve charity event. It’s a small gathering of friends, family and anyone willing to pay three hundred dollars a plate.”

Dean opened his eyes to look at Cas, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? Three hundred dollars? What type of food are you serving, chicken nuggets made of pure gold?”

“I assure you Dean, the fare will be delicious and the Random Acts Organization is a very good cause,” Castiel paused. “It is actually a very prestigious event, or it has been in the past. As I said, Gabriel knows a lot of people.” He looked at Dean and felt more than heard Dean’s breath hitch as he began to carefully knead the muscles of his legs and feet. “Are you considering performing?” The question pushed out of him involuntarily. He didn’t want to make Dean feel obligated, and yet he could not help the burgeoning desire for more. More moments like this, with airy sighs and hitching breaths and promises murmured into crooks of necks. More cold feet pressed up against his thighs and fumbled caresses in between the beeps of his kitchen timer. “I’d like you to be there,” he offered, voice soft in the quiet of Dean’s livingroom. “I enjoy our time together very much, Dean.” Castiel watched Dean open his eyes, gold flecks in green, shining in the luminescent white lights of the Christmas tree and nod. Castiel thought that those eyes could be the moon, and he the tide, pulled toward the gravity within them, desperate to close the distance. They stared, space between them both vast and miniscule. And yet, all Castiel needed to do was to ask, and Dean would come to him.

“Dean.”

“Hmmm?”

“Will you sing something for me now?”

Dean gazed at him, a surprised smile starting in his eyes and moving to his full, pink lips. He hopped up without a word and disappeared into the bedroom, only to return with Ellie and the new strap Sam gave him the night before. With his feet planted firmly on the floor, Dean settled next to Castiel, only enough space between them for his guitar and an elbow. Cas watched as he closed his eyes and licked his lips, strumming a few notes, a chord, humming under his breath and picking the strings again until he seemed satisfied. He cleared his throat and began to sing. His voice rung out crisp and clear, the three-quarter time strum of Dean’s guitar a soft accompaniment to the simple lyrics of “The Christmas Waltz”.

_It’s that time of year when the world falls in love_

_every song you hear seems to say_

_Merry Christmas, may your New Year’s dreams come true_

_and this song of mine_

_in three quarter time_

_wishes you and yours the same thing too._

The words were still running in Castiel’s head as he drifted off to sleep in Dean’s bed, in his arms, warm and safe and happier than he had been in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has helped me get through a pretty rough time at home--the holidays are never easy, but this year they've been especially trying. Cue the fluff and smut of "A Few of My Favorite Things"!
> 
> I think I have a few chapters in me, still, so look for updates between now and NYE! 
> 
> If you like the story, subscribe, give kudos, leave a comment and spread the holiday cheer.   
> Thanks for reading and happy holidays.


	5. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Collectress suggested I tag this "fluff without plot" but I refuse! There's a plot in there, somewhere, hidden underneath snuggles on cold nights, declarations of love via song and delicious warm food.  
> Regardless, I still love her and wouldn't post anything worth reading if it weren't for her Beta skills. Love ya boo.  
> I feel like I should warn for lack of smut in this chapter. I promise to write super smut next time, mmkay?

It had been a long time since Dean Winchester had woken up with anyone on New Year’s morning. Dean usually spent January 1st alone, watching football, rifling through gifts he’d gotten from Charlie or Sam and Jess until he passed out, a little tipsy, in front of the television. Even with Lisa back in Battle Creek, they went their separate ways during the holidays. He regretted how things ended with Lisa, but Dean knew, on some level, from the beginning that they weren’t going to work out. If he was being honest, which he hardly ever was with himself or with Lisa at the time, he’d had one foot out the door from the day he rolled into town.

With Lisa, everything felt rushed. Dean loved her ten-year old son, Ben fiercely, and he supposed he loved Lisa too, but not enough to stick around. They met before the holidays, when she already had plans to travel and he had plans to sit around and do nothing in his motel room. Lisa wouldn’t hear of him staying at the Sunrise Inn during Christmas, and invited him to move into a spare bedroom on the first floor of her house. Just like that, Dean had a ready-made family, a place to live and a steady job. By the time his first summer in Michigan rolled around, his foot began to itch for Baby’s accelerator and the open road in front of him. He started drinking too much and bitched enough about the stifling nature of small town America until it became easy for Lisa to ask him to go. A year after he’d arrived in Battle Creek, he was back on the road, working his way across the map, sleeping in his car and taking odd jobs for cash for the next two years, until he arrived at Stanford at the middle of Sam’s fourth year.

When Dean rolled into Palo Alto, it was to a corner and a pull-out all his own in Sam’s shitty, off-campus apartment and presents under the tree. Sam and Jess had stayed with him through every Christmas since Dean moved to California, but returned to Palo Alto to visit her family at New Year’s. With most of his rich kid clients taking Christmas break off from any lessons and Dean too damn old to bar crawl down Hollywood Boulevard on New Year’s Eve, he usually spent the holiday in his pajamas watching television. No big deal. Which is why, as he lay there, body contoured like a question mark around his magnificent, dark-haired partner with the electric blue eyes, Dean couldn’t help but marvel at the New Year’s Eve he had spent at _Seraphim_ with Castiel.

***

When Dean had accepted the invitation to play the gig at the restaurant, he had also refused to let the Novaks pay him. “This is a charity event, so you can donate my fee right back to the damn charity. What kind of Scrooge do you think I am, taking money from a good cause?” He asked as he let out an involuntary moan around his third slice of sausage, feta, olive and pesto pizza. “So good,” he whispered to the pizza. Cas rolled his eyes but continued.

“Your hard work and time are worth paying for, Dean. I do not want you to think I’m taking advantage…”

“Baby, you can take advantage…”

“Can it, Cassie,” Gabe interrupted. “If lover boy wants to donate his time, who are we to stop him?” Earlier in the week, Gabriel asked for volunteers to work the New Year’s Eve charity gala, promising them good karma in the afterlife and a free lunch prepared by Castiel. Every single member of the wait and kitchen staff who were in town over the holiday came in at 2pm on the eve of the event, to help and to eat, including Dean. Castiel and Hannah wowed the group by producing a dozen different flavors of flatbread pizzas, from savory to sweet, vegetarian to meat lovers. They gorged on everything from raspberry and chocolate dessert pizza to savory tomato, artichoke and spinach pizza before beginning to clear the tables moving into prep mode for the decadent party that evening. Cas mentioned to Dean that all 100 tickets had been purchased, which meant the restaurant raised $30,000 for Random Acts. He also mentioned the names of a few famous Hollywood actors who bought tickets and Dean tried not to have a heart attack when he heard that the lead actor from his favorite show, “Dr. Sexy, M.D.” planned to attend with his new wife. He slid closer to his partner in the booth and traced fingers up his bare arm, causing the hairs to stand up.

“In times like this I just think, what would playboy philanthropist Doctor Sexy do?” Cas giggled and Dean couldn’t help but notice the gorgeous little wrinkles that formed at the edge of his eyes. He wanted to see more of that smile. “I want to help.” The smile only got bigger, tugging at the corners of Castiel’s lips and, when Dean leaned in to kiss him, he tasted it on his tongue.

“You’re sweet.”

“No one’s ever called me sweet before,” Dean mumbled, a blush rising from his neck as he squirmed under the kind words. He would never admit it, but he loved when Cas praised him. The warmth of contentment washed over him and Dean knew he was probably whipped. He didn’t care.

“Well, that’s silly, because you are. Thank you,” Cas said as he squeezed Dean’s hand and slid out of the booth, grabbing at his chef’s hat. “I’ve got to get started, but I will see you in a few hours. Our investors will be in attendance and Gabriel wants me to meet them. When the food’s going, I plan to come out and mingle.” Dean could practically see the air quotes around the word. Those cobalt blue orbs pierced his and Dean felt a stab of affection for the man who never seemed to be able to speak in groups larger than three and definitely never got any of Dean’s pop culture references but could explain the intricacies of Slovak strudel baking in three languages and run a kitchen of twenty staff without a sideways glance. “Your set is finished before the food is served so that you and your friends may enjoy the evening...and, well, I was hoping...I’d very much like for you to stay. With me. I’m no good at mingling,” He shrugged and looked down at his hands, which currently were white-knuckling the chef’s hat on the table in front of him.

Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and ran his thumb across the palm before pulling the other man in for a peck on the lips. “I will be right there with ya, buddy. I’ll be your arm candy, if you need me to be.” He winked and watched the trepidation melt off of Castiel’s face as he let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank you, Dean. Gabriel doesn’t usually ask me to do things like this because he knows I become anxious in crowds, but this is important and I promised him I would make an effort to speak to investors and not hide behind the buffet table.” He smiled at Dean and wiggled his eyebrows, looking more mischievous than Dean had ever seen him. It was a good look. “As I did when we first met. You do realize I knew the entire time that you were Sam Winchester’s brother?”

“Ha! I knew it!”

Castiel looked sheepish, his eyes lowered and a faint blush rising on his cheeks, and even that was cute. _God, Dean was so sprung._ “Jess mentioned her husband’s brother was singing and told me you were nice. When I saw you in the kitchen…”

“I remember. It was kismet.” Dean pulled him back into the booth and kissed Cas soft and slow, sighing into his mouth. He tasted like chocolate and shortbread and Dean thought Cas’ lips must be the sweetest taste in the world. The pair shared space for a beat or two and Dean leaned in and pressed his forehead against Castiel’s. “This place is amazing. You’re amazing. It’s gonna be great and I’ll be right there with you. I’m glad we met that night, Cas. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” As Castiel slid out of the booth for the second time, very carefully straightening the lapels of his starched white shirt and apron, Dean looked up at him, a little awestruck and a lot in love. “Now go cook. I’ve got to practice with Benny. See you in a couple of hours.” He watched Castiel walk away without looking back, moving through the cacophony of the restaurant with practiced ease. This place was a second home for Cas, he looked so confident and sure in the kitchen of _Seraphim_. A restaurant in Vegas would be good for him. Dean promised himself that he would do whatever he could to make sure Cas felt confident during the evening ahead.

***

 **4:45pm Charlie:** _so i finally get to meet mister dreamy??_

 **4:46pm Dean:** _i swear to god charlie if you EVER tell him i called him dreamy i will end you_

 **4:50pm Charlie:** _you will do no such thing. i own you._

 **4:51pm Dean:** _dude i will kidnap your favorite pop funko bobble head hermione and ship her with draco malfoy_

 **4:51pm Charlie:** _too far dean_

 **4:52pm Charlie:** _what should i wear anyway?_

 **4:52pm Dean:** _it’s fancy with rich people so dress nice i guess. wear that green dress that makes your hair stand out and you look all ethereal and shit_

 **4:54pm Charlie:** _you sure i won’t look like a leprechaun?_

 **4:55pm Dean:** ………………

 **4:56pm Dean:** .....................

 **4:57pm Dean** : _pretty sure_

 **5:00pm Charlie:** _i hate you_

Dean grinned and punched in a quick last text to Charlie.

 **5:01pm Dean:** _no you don’t. gotta go but i’ll see you @ 8_

***

 **6:45pm Sam:** _happy new year!!_

 **7:00pm Dean:** _dude the sun barely went down._

 **7:01pm Sam:** _i’m so bored. jess and her sisters are forcing me to watch frozen. they’re singing. there’s no beer._

 **7:03pm Dean:** _you love that movie_

 **7:04pm Sam:** _doesn’t mean i wanna watch it on NYE without beer_

 **7:04pm Sam:** _when does the party start? i’m going to live vicariously through you. send pictures. nothing gross._

 **7:08pm Dean:** _getting ready at cas’ now. red carpet pics start at 8:30 and i’m making charlie walk through with me, since cas’ gonna be in the kitchen. been at the restaurant practicing and eating all afternoon. i’m nervous!!!_

 **7:10pm Sam:** _you’re gonna be great. red carpet huh??? that’s new. at least charlie will be there. just imagine everyone in their underwear or something. getting ready at cas’??? ooooh you are so whipped!!! i’m booooooored dean dean i’m bored so so so bored_

Dean sent Sam a few pictures, just to get the sasquatch to quit his whining, not because he was excited about his outfit, or anything. First of his new Impala cufflinks, then of the small, plastic Christmas tree sitting in the corner of Cas’ loft, then the view of downtown Los Angeles from Cas’ Spring Street balcony and finally, of the most goofy face he could muster looking as good as he did in a suit and tie. Sam sent back one of Jess and her two younger sisters in matching pajamas sitting on the floor watching _Frozen_ , then one of himself, his hair pulled back in a tiny, makeshift Elsa braid, with the caption, “I will probably regret this.” _Hell yes, he’ll regret it_ , Dean thought as he chortled out loud and saved the picture to his phone for later blackmail. At twenty minutes to eight, Dean sent Sam a final text, slung Ellie over his back, locked up the place with the key Castiel had given him earlier that day and began the mile-long walk from the apartment to _Seraphim_ to meet Charlie.

“Dean!”

About a block before the restaurant, there she stood, all red hair and attitude, his tiny and fierce best friend, Charlie Bradbury. “I thought I was gonna meet you at the restaurant?” he asked as Charlie scampered up to him, squealing, arms flung wide and then, wrapped around him in a tight embrace.

“Dude, you should see that place. There are paparazzi everywhere, no street parking...Gilda had to drop me off over here because she couldn’t get any closer with her car.” She punched him in the shoulder and stepped back to look him up and down. Dean wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Whatever, Dean. So what you look good, you want a medal or something?” She cackled and then snagged his wrist. “Ooooh are those the famous cufflinks? I looked them up online, do you know how much...?”

“Charlie, shut up!” Dean rumbled. “God, it’s good to see you.” He scooped her up again, but this time she kicked at his shins until he placed her back on the ground.

“Put me down, Winchester. I can’t believe I’m been gone for a month and you go and get yourself a boyfriend! How dare you?” She teased, sliding her arm into his and squeezing close to Dean’s side as they began to walk toward _Seraphim_. “So, you sent me a zillion pictures of him, thank god, no dick pics. Ow! No hitting, use your words. Cas _is_ pretty dreamy, though, I must admit. You two probably look so hot when you kiss,” she said thoughtfully. Dean rolled his eyes and then leaned down to whisper in her ear,

“We totally do.”

“Gross, Winchester! Really, really gross. And hot. But gross!” She giggled and pulled her coat tighter around her. Although the rain had stopped, the wind blowing between the high-rise buildings felt like ice, and Dean pulled his arm tighter across the shoulders of his friend as she shivered. Dean kind of regretted suggesting she wear the tiny green dress. When he said as much she smirked. “No pain, no gain, Winchester.”

“I don’t know how girls do it. Walking around in dresses and heels and nothing on your legs in this kind of weather. I have no clue how you ever made it through a Chicago winter.”

“This is why I’m the queen and you’re my lowly manservant. Besides, my cousins let me borrow clothes when I’m there. I look like a damn Wampa from Hoth, all bundled up. I don’t shave my legs for an entire month, Dean. It’s glorious.”

“Now who’s gross?”

“One of the perks of not living in California during the winter months, my friend,” Charlie jabbed at Dean and he laughed but tapered off as they turned around the corner and saw the clamor in front of _Seraphim_. _Shit_. He hadn’t been out on New Year’s Eve since he was a kid and, all of a sudden, Dean felt extremely under-prepared for what looked to be a very Hollywood-type night. Next to him, Charlie slowed and turned to him, noting the shock registering on his face. “Whoa. Okay. Don’t worry. It’s gonna be awesome. I’m going to be right by your side, you’ll be by Castiel’s. Gilda will come back around eleven and...it’s going to be fine. We’re gonna have so much fun!” She squealed and Dean began to feel the tenseness in his shoulders relax a little. _Yeah. It’ll be fun. He’ll get to hang out with Charlie and see Cas doing his restaurateur thing. And sing. For_ these _people. Shit._ “It’s fine Dean. Come on, I see Benny.”

“ _Mon cher_ , I haven’t seen you in a hot minute,” Benny drawled as he kissed Charlie on the cheek. He turned to Dean. “Looking good, brother. Ready to rock that set?” He tipped his hat and Dean couldn’t help but smile. He’d met Benny when he started gigging in Southern California. They played together sometimes, but both did their own thing more often than not. For a show like this, it helped his nerves to have someone he knew playing the keys behind him. He called Benny right after Gabe invited him to sing, told him it was a swanky charity event where they could play, then eat. Benny also refused to take any fee, so Gabe comped them both a “plus one”. They invited Charlie and Glenda so the four of them could hang out, catch up and possibly get drunk. Charlie went out of town every December to visit her aunt and uncle in Chicago, where she grew up, and they hadn’t all hung out since before Thanksgiving. Since before he met Castiel.

“Finally we get to size up this mister dreamy, amirite, Benny?” Charlie said casually, as she stood between the two, taller men, lacing her arms with theirs and creeping down the red carpet. “Dean, smile. You look like someone just stole a princess from your castle.”

“There err serr merny lerts.”

“What?”

“Serr merny lerts.  Flurshing lerts!” he said again, jaw clenched, his smile looking very forced. Charlie’s shoulders shook with laughter and a little pity as she watched him try to talk through pressed together teeth, arm squeezed tightly against hers.  

“Dude, relax.”

He sighed and his body loosened a little, still nervous, but less so as he watched her and Benny smile with practiced ease at the photographers that snapped a few pictures of the group and then moved on to the people behind them. Inside felt no less chaotic, but it was a measured sort of chaos. Servers mulled through small groups that congregated around tables near the dance floor, which held a few couples swaying to the sounds of the private DJ Gabriel hired to play tunes before and after Dean’s set. Dean had asked for a specific vibe for the evening in terms of music. Folksy and kind of jazzy, a mix between Phantogram and Beyonce, intense, artsy and fun. Perfect for the eclectic crowd of artists, musicians and actors gobbling up mini versions of Cas’ most famous dishes.

While Benny wandered off to the bar, Charlie and Dean ended up at the dance floor, eyeballing the crowd. “Oh my god, is that Doctor Sexy?” Dean breathed out in a huff, not even realizing he said the words aloud until he heard Charlie snicker and felt her elbow in his rib.

“Be cool, Winchester. Oh my gosh is that him…?” Charlie poked him again, this time pointing with her forehead and eyebrows at the dark-haired man walking toward them.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas! Hey, Charlie, this is Cas my...new...my....”

“Boyfriend! I mean, _er_ , partner. Your place is great, Cas. Nice crowd yet very intimate, even with the dozen or so paparazzi outside. And the food is delicious. I’m loving the tapas. What a great idea for the night. It is really great to finally meet you. Dean’s told me so much about you,” Charlie said all in one breath before pushing passed the hand Cas held out to her and pulling him in for a hug. Surprised and with his arms at his sides, he let her hug him, all the while looking at Dean over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifted, as if questioning all of humankind and their _odd need for physical affection among strangers._

“Yes, we decided against an actual three-course meal and went with an all-you-can-eat tapas at the buffet, instead. It worked so well at the McLeod function and Gabriel insisted I highlight all my best dishes. I even did the steamed clams in a garlic-saffron broth that Dean enjoys so much,” Cas said, into the top of Charlie’s head.

“Oh, he _is_ dreamy, Winchester.”

“Hey, hands off Bradbury, he’s mine.” Dean growled and furrowed his brow in mock seriousness. “C’mere you, how’s it going? The place looks amazing. Not too shabby, Emeril,” Dean murmured as he pulled Cas away from Charlie and buried his face in his Cas’ warm neck. The shorter man sighed and let his hands find their way up to the nape of Dean’s neck, tickling the hairs there with the feather-light touch of his fingers. They kissed once and then moved apart, still holding hands. Charlie smirked at Dean and he rolled his eyes before turning to his partner. “Do you have time to point us to our table?” Cas nodded and began moving without preamble toward the side booths. The **VIP** area, Dean noted. For high rollers. Yeesh. He had to remind himself this wasn’t a party where they could sit around drinking beer and chit chatting. Both he and Cas had jobs to do. First the performance and then playing nice with the donors and his boyfriend, _er,_ partner and, _voila_ , midnight smooch. _He could definitely do this._ “Will you be able to eat with us?” Dean asked as he trailed behind Castiel, with Charlie behind him, holding onto his jacket lapels as they maneuvered across the restaurant.

“Unfortunately, the kitchen staff will begin serving food right at the end of your set. I probably will be in the kitchen most of the time you are singing, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“As long as you’re around for me to kiss at midnight, I’m fine.” Dean spoke softly, his lips close to Cas’ as they reached their booth. Dean allowed Charlie to scoot in and then moved in beside her. She pretended to be occupied by something on her phone, but Dean knew she was listening and probably live tweeting, everything they said to each other.  

“I will be done much closer to eleven,” Cas deadpanned and Dean wasn’t sure if he was joking or being serious until he noticed Charlie side-eyeing both of them. She started smiling, then Dean broke out in a grin and Cas chuckled a quiet laugh. “All right.” He hummed, turning to Charlie. “Thank you so much for being here tonight. I’m looking forward to meeting Gilda later on, after,” he waved his hands at the chattering crowds of people, glittery decorations and tables of food all around them. “This.” Cas turned to Dean, leaned in to kiss him once, soft and chaste against closed lips. “See you soon?”

“Of course.”

Then he was gone; disappearing into the double doors of the kitchen moments later, Dean staring at the empty spot where he stood only a moment before.

“Oh dude, you are so whipped.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Dean sang his set, with no sign of Cas, at first. Halfway through the performance, in the middle of a cover of Eliot Smith’s “Angeles,” he noticed Cas slip out of the kitchen doors, moving slowly across the back wall, toward the bar, then behind the dance floor and around to the booth where Charlie sat, ignoring everyone in his way, keeping his eyes on Dean the entire time. The nervousness that clenched the pit of his stomach began to abate, and Dean sang with gusto, losing himself in the lyrics of the song and the notes of his guitar.

_I could make you satisfied in everything you do_

_All your secret wishes could right now be coming true_

_And be forever with my poison arms around you_

_No one’s gonna fool around with us_

_No one’s gonna fool around with us_

_So glad to meet you_

_Angeles_

He trailed off at the last line, allowing his voice to naturally vibrate, deep and low at the end. When he quieted, a burst applause originating from the area of Charlie and Cas’ table started a trend and soon the crowd was clapping with gusto. He smiled out into the dark of the crowd.

“Uh, thanks. Thank you. This next song is a special request. Gonna send it out to my partner, Cas,” he added, glancing at Cas, who smiled and sat up straighter in the booth next to Charlie. Dean sang an upbeat, modern version of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve,”  Benny’s jazz piano tinkling the melody, moving in and out of harmony with Dean’s voice with ease. They continued on like that for five more songs; piano, guitar, sometimes the bongos Dean brought with him, and then, they were finished, and Dean could breathe again, the nervousness and adrenaline sucked right out of him over the course of an hour. At this point, all he wanted was drink and a shag, but he had Cas to think about. With an hour to midnight, Gilda finally made it over from work. She’d changed into an equally slinky dress and rivaled Charlie for the hottest nerd in the joint. Charlie always won out, because Dean had a soft spot for redheads. Plus, Charlie would kick his ass if he looked at her girlfriend longer than the time it took for him to compliment her choice in shoes.

“Dean, eat! You’re both done for the night, well, sort of. Eat!” Charlie pushed a plate of different appetizers over to him and he had a distinct memory of Sam doing the same thing to him at the Christmas party. It seemed ages ago, the time _before Castiel_. Dean fit Cas into his life so seamlessly, he almost forgot what life had been like _before Castiel_.

“I swear, I am going to get so fat dating you, Cas.”

“Don’t listen to him, Cas. Your food is amazing. You’re really opening a restaurant in Las Vegas? That is so cool.” Charlie stuffed a Piquillo pepper filled with goat cheese and herbs into her mouth, closed her and moaned so loudly Dean turned a little pink. Gilda just raised an eyebrow and then popped one into her mouth, too. She gave a satisfied hum and Dean grinned.

“Yeah. I need to take up jogging or something.”

After Dean tried at least a dozen different types of finger food, and Gabriel had visited their table twice, he pulled Castiel up and out of the booth, determined to mingle with the donors and potential investors for at least a few minutes before midnight. The party didn’t end until two, but Dean planned to start drinking champagne at the stroke of twelve and didn’t want to risk embarrassing himself or Cas until the after party. _Kids these days still do after parties, right?_

“We’ll go talk nice to the foodies now, kiss and eat sweets and drink alcohol after.” Dean wrapped his arms around Cas from behind, snuggling his head into the other man’s hair and breathing in the smell of rosemary and garlic and sweat. Even though Cas had changed into a suit and spritzed cologne on his wrists, he still smelled like kitchen and Dean absolutely loved the scent of him, so rustic and home-y and good. “Mmmm, Cas, I’m right here with you. Let’s do this, babe.” Cas walked toward his brother and Dean lingered, looking through the space filled with revelers, some whom he recognized as local celebrities, some local business owners and shit. Dr. and Mrs. Sands. Josie. _What the actual fuck?_

“Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe,” Josie bit out and Dean already wanted to roll his eyes, crawl under a rock or both.

“Mrs. Sands, Doctor, good to see you again. How’s Bobby Junior?”

“Dean, you were great. Bobby’s good! He’ll be upset we got to see you and he didn’t. He ended up taking Guitar Theory over at USC this fall,” Robert Sands smiled and Dean felt that familiar pang of guilt at the open and trusting smile Bob always gave him. _Geez. Not tonight_ , he thought, desperately looking for an escape route and finding none. He met Cas’ eyes and watched as he rose from the corner where he sat with Gabriel and Kali, an official _Seraphim: Las Vegas_ investor as of tonight, and began to move toward him. Them. _Fuck_.

“Lovely set, Dean. Especially that middle one. The dedication? She must be something special,” Josie sneered. Before Dean could answer, Cas walked up behind him and grabbed his hand. Dean tensed and let his eyes flicker, just for a minute, at Josie. Cas noticed.

“Hello.” Cas held out his hand to Robert, who shook it and complimented him on the food, the atmosphere, the music. Yup. Dean definitely wanted to crawl into a hole. Cas stood there, nodding, saying thank you, asking about their interest in the charity and the restaurant, all the while, never letting go of Dean’s hand.

“Oh. You’re the chef,” Josie spoke from behind a martini glass and a perfect set of red lips. Dean hated how well he lied.

“Cas and his brother own the place,” he said, squeezing Cas’ hand. Robert smiled at them. Dean’s heart clenched, an ancient pain that he recognized from his early days in Hollywood, when the women all looked like goddesses and their husbands none-the-wiser.

“It’s great to see you, Dean. Isn’t it, Jody?” She murmured a reply that made her husband frown momentarily before turning back to Dean and Castiel. “I will be sure to tell Bobby Jr. you said hello. Great place you got here, Chef, and we just love Random Acts. Congratulations to both of you.” Robert placed his hand on Josie’s back and guided them toward the bar, where Dean watched him order his wife a bottle of water that she refused to drink. Cas turned to him.

“You fucked her.”

He didn’t ask it so much as state the obvious. _Shit. This was not how Dean pictured their night going._  

“I...I did, yeah.”

“When?”

“I tutored their son for about two years. He’s in college now. We...Josie and I...well...” Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose. This was definitely not how he pictured the night going. “We fucked, yeah. For a while. Then Bobby went to school and I stopped seeing her. It sucked. I was, um, confused,” Dean grumbled. Cas still hadn’t let go of his hand, and he took that as a good sign. A sign that maybe Cas didn’t hate him and want to break up fifteen minutes before midnight on New Year’s Eve. “I felt like the pool boy, or something. I went a year and a half shutting down her advances. The last six months working with Junior, seeing Robert, fucking Josie. It was a shitty thing to do. I regret it. I haven’t seen anyone since. I mean,” Dean paused, sheepish. "It’s been a year. Since Josie. I haven't been with anyone since. Til, well...til you.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand, which he took as an even better sign.

“A year? She still wants you,” Castiel pointed out, squinting at the couple as they sat at the bar, squabbling over bottled water. “Did she not know you were into men?”

Dean grinned and tugged at Castiel’s hand until they stood face to face, in the middle of the dance floor. Wrapping his arms around Cas, Dean began to sway them to the music, a slow instrumental that sounded like Miles Davis, if Dean had to bet money on it. Cas sighed and pressed his head into Dean’s chest, moving with him to the melodic sounds of Miles' jazz saxophone. They stayed like that, even as the song changed to a Sarah Vaughn piece that Dean hadn’t heard in years. He pressed a hand into the small of Castiel’s back and their bodies were flush against one another; miles of long, lean flesh warm and pliant tangled up with his. “I’m just into you, Cas. Not men. Not women. You. You believe me, right?” Of all the times he’d lied to keep an even keel, this time, he wanted nothing more than to speak the truth. Castiel deserved to know Dean’s past. If he wanted to know, Dean would tell him. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, lips pressed against Cas’ ear, breath warm and sweet.

“I could never hate you, Dean.”

He smiled into Cas’ cheek. It turned into a grimace when he heard his friend walk up behind him.

“Duuuuuuude.”

Dean lifted his head. “Hey Charlie. Hey Gilda.”

“Was that Bitchy McCrazytown and the good doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Cas, it was just a pool boy phase he was going through.”

“Oh my god, Charlie.”

Cas giggled and kissed Dean’s jawline. “I heard.”

Dean groaned. “You guys, seriously. Worse than Sam.”

“It’s almost midnight, you two!”

And, as if by divine Hogwart’s Magic, the DJ announced at the microphone. “Thirty seconds to midnight, you all. Time to find someone to kiss at as we count down from…”

“Five...four...three...two...one...Happy New Year!” The restaurant exploded with noise and movement, “Auld Lang Syne” playing over the sound system and Dean hummed along under his breath. With his arms wrapped around Castiel, he moved in for the kiss, his first in 2015. Their first. It started out soft and tentative and turned into Dean licking at Castiel’s teeth with his tongue, until he forced himself to pull away, breathless and half hard in his slacks.

“Okay, you two, save it for the bedroom,” Charlie teased, arm still around Gilda's waist from the midnight kiss they shared only a moment earlier. She turned to her girlfriend. “It really is super hot when they kiss though, right? Is that just me?”

“Fucken A, Charlie, you’re so gross.”

“Shut it, Winchester.” Dean smiled at Cas, who lifted his eyebrow higher than Dean had ever seen before when Charlie punched both of them in the arm with a swift and sure jab.

“Ow.”

“Get used to it, Cas.” Dean leaned over his partner for a second kiss. It was even better than the first.

***

**THE END OF Part I**

**Stay tuned for the second part of this series**

**"More of My Favorite Things"**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done with the holiday part of the story, but I think I've got more of this verse to share. I really want to write Destiel smut set in Vegas. 
> 
> Amirite??
> 
> Subscribe to the series for upcoming posts!
> 
> Meet me over on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/collectivadiva) or on [Tumblr](http://whothehellisdiva.tumblr.com) for more of the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get enough of this verse! If you like it, subscribe. New chapters coming soon and I have an actual long-term plot running through my skull that doesn't end with Christmas fluff!
> 
> Just subscribe!  
> And thanks for reading :)
> 
> Meet me over on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/collectivadiva) or on [Tumblr](http://whothehellisdiva.tumblr.com) for more of the same.


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